Talon & Chantry 07 - North To The Rails (v5.0) Read Free Page B

civilized community.
    Since the shocking death of his father there had been no violence in his life. He had grown up first in a small New England village, going to school, fishing along the streams, hunting rabbits, squirrels, and then deer. He had gone to church, and had taken for granted the well-dressed, quiet-talking people, the neat streets, the well-ordered little town.
    He had been aware of the town officials, the local constable, and the talk of courts and trials. He knew the town had a jail, although it was rarely occupied by more than an occasional drunk. Later, in New York, the police had been more obvious. There were fire companies, and workmen to repair damage to the streets.
    With these memories in his mind, he had also been conscious now for several minutes of the drum of a horse’s hoofs on the trail behind him. He turned to see a rider on a bay horse—the very bay he had seen in the Andress corral when he caught up the horse he was riding. The rider was a tall, straight old man with a white mustache and clear blue eyes.
    “Howdy, Chantry!” he called. “I’m Luke Andress. No need to leave that dollar. In this country if a man needs a horse all he needs to do is let a body know.”
    “Thank you.” Briefly, Tom Chantry explained.
    “Murderers,” Andress said; “savages. But you ought to carry a gun. If you’d had a gun they’d never have tried it…not to your face, anyway. Those Talrims are back-shootin’ murderers. At least, those two are.”
    “Do you think the posse will catch them?”
    “Them? No, they won’t—not by a durned sight. Those Talrims are a bad lot, but they’re mountain men. With two horses under them and what grub you had they’ll lose themselves in the mountains west of here. They’re better than Injuns when it comes to runnin’ an’ hidin’.”
    Andress glanced at him. “You figuring on ranchin’ it?”
    “No, I came out to buy cattle, and after what’s happened in the last few days I can’t get out of here fast enough.”
    Andress was silent as they rode on for a short distance, and then he said, “It’s a good country, Chantry. It’s like any country when it’s young and growin’. It attracts the wild spirits, the loose-footed. Some of them settle down and become mighty good citizens, but there’s always the savages. You have ’em back east, too.”
    “Not like here.”
    “Just like here…only you’ve got an organized society, a police department, and law courts. The bad actor there knows he ain’t goin’ to get far if he starts cuttin’ up. Folks won’t stand for it. But you walk down the street back there and you can figure maybe two out of every five folks you pass are savages. They may not even know it themselves, but once the law breaks down you’d find out fast enough. First they’d prey on the peaceful ones, then on each other…it’s jungle law, boy, and don’t you forget it.
    “Out here there’s nothin’ but local law, and a man can be as mean as he wants to until folks catch up with him, or until he meets some bigger, tougher man. This is raw country; the good folks are good because it’s their nature, and the bad can run to meanness until somebody fetches them up the short. That’s why you’d better arm yourself. If you’re goin’ to be in this country you’ll need a gun.”
    “Guns lead to trouble.”
    “Well,” Andress said dryly, “I can see where not havin’ a gun led you to trouble.” He paused a moment. “The thieves and the killers are goin’ to have guns, so if the honest men don’t have ’em they just make it easier for the vicious. But you hold to your way of thinkin’, boy, if you’ve a mind to. It’s your way, and you got a right to it.”
    Cimarron showed up ahead, lights appearing, although it was not yet dark.
    “Go to the St. James,” Andress said. “There are some cattlemen there almost every night. They come in to play cards, or to set around and talk. You’ll find some cattle, but if